Sobered in a moment, I composed my features for the punishment and received it, stinging and burning, on my reddened cheek.
Salome again pointed at me.
"You're a sportsman, sir, a sportsman, and I like you," an affection which I at once reciprocated.
"Ee, bless me, my man," he pursued. "What's your horrible name?"
"Ray, sir."
"Well, Ray, I'm going to cane you hard"—(rather crudely expressed, I thought)—"because your offence is serious, bless me, my man"—(an unreasonable request at this stage).
He took out his cane and turned first to Pennybet.
"I find, Mr. Pennybet, that, when you were breaking bounds, you should have been with your company—your company, sir—at shooting practice. It's desertion, sir—and punishable by death. But I shan't shoot you. You're not worth it—not worth it. I shan't even cane you, sir. You're too old—too old."
Penny looked at him, as much as to say he thought his point of view was very sensible.
"But ee, bless me, my man, take off that complacent expression, or I feel I may certainly smack your face."